Shock to the Senses
by audi katia
Summary: After a death, people do not always fully recover, no matter how many years go by. ::Fred-centric::
1. Jolt

This will be a series of one-shots of how various characters deal with Fred's death even years after the final battle. Memories of the dead linger and those left behind have to deal with the after effects.

This first chapter focuses on George.

* * *

_Jolt__  
1. to jar, shake, or cause to move by or as if by a sudden rough thrust; shake up roughly  
2. to shock emotionally or psychologically_

The first year was… unspeakably horrible. First summer without Fred. First re-opening of the shop without Fred. First Christmas without Fred. First Easter without Fred. First birthday without Fred. First anniversary of Fred's death.

First everything, in short.

The few days that follow the anniversary of the battle prove to be harder than anything George could have anticipated. With a jolt, he realizes, those are not the only days without Fred.

They are the first. Fred's never coming back.

He managed one year without his twin. This was not a period of absence. This was an acid taste of what was to come for the rest of George's life.

At first, everyday was a jolt to his systems when he woke up and saw an empty bed next to him.

Going through old files from the shop a decade after the funeral, George comes across original papers detailing the first sales to friends in the Gryffindor Common Room. A jolt of electricity flows from the paper as he sees Fred's sloppy signature.

Years to come, he would pass a mirror and feel a jolt in his stomach. Out of the corner of his eye, was that Fred? No.

Finally, George wakes up one day, follows the routine of washing his face and heading downstairs for breakfast with his wife. It's not until she sets down a plate of all his favorite breakfast foods that he remembers today is his sixty-fifth birthday.

And with a sickening, shocking jolt, he realizes this is the first birthday he has had without thinking of Fred. The first birthday without remembering Fred.

This jolt, he thinks, is the worst one yet.

* * *

Next to come, Molly Weasley. (fold)

Please, please review.


	2. Fold

Thanks for the 63 hits and one review! (No, that's not sarcasm.) Anyway, this one might be my favorite. I haven't noticed too many fics dealing with Mrs. Weasley's reaction to Fred's death so this was something new and fresh for me. I hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

* * *

_Fold  
1. to bring into a compact form by bending and laying parts together  
2. to enclose; wrap; envelop_

Before his death, Molly hugged her children occasionally. She hugged them on their birthdays, when she grew worried about their well being, when they went to school, when they came home from school.

After his death, Molly hugged her children at every available moment. She hugged them when they went to bed, when they finished their dinner, when they came to visit, when they smiled at her. As long as she could hug them, feel their body warmth, feel their arms around her, everything is alright.

She hugs George twice as much. Half the time, she pretends she's hugging someone else who will never hug her back.

When she goes to sleep at night, she hugs Arthur tight to her body. His steady heartbeat lulls her to sleep when nothing else can. He runs his fingers through her hair, rubs her arms affectionately before falling asleep. Still, she clings to him with every hope, praying that he will always be there to enclose his arms around her.

More than the dark, more than rats, she fears being alone. When the children have gone to their own houses, when Arthur is at work, when the grandchildren are with their mothers or at school, Molly feels utterly alone. She pretends not to notice and carries on with her usual business.

She washes the dishes, knits, or does laundry. Anything to ignore the pressing loneliness around her. Then, in that small sliver of time, after the chores are finished but before Arthur comes home, Molly sits by herself in an old rocking chair.

She presses the soft fabric of an old sweater that's been without its owner for fifteen years to her face. No tears soil the fabric as she hugs the jumper tighter to her chest. Then, in the empty space of her chair, Molly pulls in her exposed corners, folding into herself.

* * *

Next to come, Mr. Weasley. (tense)

Please, please review.


	3. Tense

Gah, sorry for the long update. Mr. Weasley was particularly hard to write for. Plus, I've been really busy lately. I just had my graduation yesterday. (Go me!)

Anyway, I wanted to thank my reviewers. You guys really make my day. So, in honor of you, here is chapter 3, regardless of how long overdue it is. I promise that the others should come faster.

* * *

_Tense  
1. stretched tight; drawn taut; rigid.  
2. in a state of mental or nervous strain_

His entire body hurts.

There's not a charm his wife can perform that makes his pain go away. It's a deep pain, both figurative and literal.

No longer can Arthur hear Fred's name without tensing. There is not a memory of Fred that he can think back on when he doesn't tense.

The tea cups he holds when he thinks of his dead son on the floor of the Great Hall have all been smashed to bits. The broken pieces lay in his bleeding hands, and he wonders bleakly why he can't feel their sharpness against his skin. These days, Arthur feels nothing except for the dull throbbing of rigid muscles.

He can feel his muscles freeze while he watches George. His son walks through the Burrow, his body working like those robots he once heard of in the Muggle World. He drifts into the rooms, eating little, sleeping rarely, staring blankly. Muscles contracting agonizingly, Arthur has no idea how to comfort his son.

Molly tries to hide her pain. They all do. But he can see it raw in her eyes when he holds her at night, desperately trying to fix her broken heart. His face twists. The muscles taunt to hold back a flood of tears.

She sees his discomfort. She's tried every spell, every potion, every incantation she knows to loosen his muscles, but it's no use. As long as he can remember Fred, there will be pain.

Each morning Arthur wakes up and stretches, trying to extend the muscles that will never relax.

* * *

Next to come, Lee Jordan. (twitch)

Please, please review.


	4. Twitch

Everyone who has read this fic so far, I just want to tell you thank you. I think you're all pretty awesome. I hope you enjoy this next chapter. This is one of my favorite ones in the series.

* * *

_Twitch  
1. to move spasmodically or convulsively  
2. to jerk; to jump_

When George asked Lee to help him work at the shop after its reopening, Lee figured things would be uncomfortable. He anticipated many awkward moments when Fred's name hung in the air. He knew unsaid feelings of pain and comfort would fall between them with gravity forcing them down.

But never had he thought about how _quiet_ it could be.

In the entire time that he had known the Weasley twins, there had always been noise. The Common Room exploding with laughter. Percy yelling at their antics. The satisfying sound of vomit hitting the bottom of a bucket to a pleased crowd.

But now, things are different.

During the day, the shop teems with eager customers, curiously testing fake wands or petting Pygmy Puffs. Lee welcomes the noise, encourages it, lives for it.

But the laughter and excited gasps fade as the hours grow later and the sun sets. The shop finally closes and Lee dreads these late nights.

From every corner of the room, silence drips. Oozes. Seeps. Somehow, it finds its way into Lee's lungs and makes him choke. The aftertaste of silence gags him until his throat feels harsh and raw.

A buzzing fills his head and Lee shakes violently, trying in vain to find relief. He squirms in his seat, hoping for a creak to break the stillness. Racing spastically around the room, he places items on shelves and tries to outrun the overbearing quiet.

The whole time, he wonders how George can stand this torturous hush. Fidgeting, shaking, knocking. Nothing shakes the absence of Fred from the room.

Lee taps his fingers, drums his feet, anything to fill the space that Fred can't fill himself.

* * *

Next to come, Angelina Johnson. (pull)

Please, please review.


	5. Pull

Hello again, friends. Thanks for the reviews, the favorites, and the story alerts. You all deserve cookies.

Anyway, I hope you like this chapter. It's not one of my favorites, I actually think this is my weakest one. Normally I love writing about Angelina/Fred, but this for some reason didn't seem to mesh as well as the others. Oh well. I do hope you still like it.

* * *

_Pull- to draw or tug at with force_

Sitting around the dinner table, Freddie apologizes for his latest prank while Roxanne sits hushed and silent. George laughs at Freddie's antics, but gives Angelina a look from the corner of his eyes.

He and Freddie clean up the dirty dishes while Roxanne slips silently up the stairs. One playful push from George and Angelina follows her daughter to her room.

The door opens gently, but Roxanne still hastens to hide the letter behind her back. Abashed by her mother's raised eyebrow, Roxanne admits to having a boyfriend at Hogwarts.

Angelina's smile doesn't reach her eyes as she embraces her daughter. She laughs a fake laugh and promises to keep George from being too overprotective. Then, before Roxanne can properly thank her mother, Angelina steps out the front door, calling out to George that she will take a walk for a moment.

Does she want him to accompany her, he wonders. No, she answers. Not at all.

Angelina walks through the neighboring park, oblivious to the evening summer sun on her skin. A sharp twist to her heart brings tears to her eyes as she thinks of Roxanne and her first love.

Jealousy.

The emotion swells inside Angelina, becoming so overwhelming that she fears she might fall over from the force of it. Gasping slightly, Angelina shuts her eyes and presses a hand to her pounding heart.

With each thought of the joy and agony of first love, her heart pulls. It nearly flies from her chest, eager to escape and yet it seizes in her rib cage, too scared to be free. Unable to make up its mind, it pulls, twists, yearns.

First love may fade away slowly. It may lock itself in the back of one's mind, only thought of in times of gentle nostalgia. It may cause a soft smile or thoughts of all the silly, secret things shared. But it should never _die_.

* * *

Next to come, Freddie Weasley. (hesitate)

Please, please review.


	6. Hesitate

Well, folks, this is it. The last chapter...

Thank you all for reading and for the reviews, favorites, and story alerts. You all really helped to inspire me. :)

So, I hope that you enjoy this chapter. This one might be my overall favorite. I don't really see that many fics about Freddie. And when I do, they seem to focus more on George, and I always wondered how Freddie felt about being named after his dead uncle. So I hope you like my take on Freddie.

* * *

_Hesitate- to be reluctant or wait to act because of fear, indecision, or disinclination_

Freddie has long since outgrown his nickname. It's childish and he hates it.

Freddie.

A name he answered to when he was five years old and didn't know any better. When his baby sister Roxanne first said his name, he was proud to be Freddie. He would laugh gleefully when his father asked, "Ready, Freddie?" because rhyming is hilarious when you are seven.

But Roxanne is older now and Freddie is no longer seven. He's nearly a sixth year at Hogwarts and ready to move on to a stronger, older name.

Fred.

He whispers it to himself at night when he's alone in bed. Whenever he meets someone new, he introduces himself as Fred, not Freddie. He imagines a future where he is famous, and all the newspapers call him Fred.

More than anything, he wants to be Fred.

But he hesitates because he knows what Fred means to the family. It's more than just a name. More than just a nickname that thousands of people in the world share.

It's a name that makes his father stop in his tracks. It's a name that makes Grandmum Weasley dap her eyes with a handkerchief. It's a name that stops all the noise at dinner.

Fred.

It tastes bitter in Freddie's mouth. Forbidden, lost. But he wants to shed himself of his childish name so badly. Still, he hesitates.

He hears his father cry every first day of April. He knows the name on the old family clock points to Home. He has seen the war memorial with the name hidden in the masses.

So he sits at the dinner table, wanting to change his name and wondering if his parents know his hesitation.

* * *

Please, please review.


End file.
